


Potshots In Prose

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bickering, Ex-Lovers But Not Quite, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:00:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got some dirt on my shoes<br/>My words can come out as a pi st ol<br/>And I’m no good at aiming<br/>But I can aim it at y o u</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potshots In Prose

“You did.. what.”

Rodimus blinked at Drift, “What? Bunch’a my crew is looking under the weather, I’m worried something got picked up at the last supply dock, so I assigned Perceptor and Ratchet to hop to it and work some science wizardry. What’s not to get, dude?”

Drift wheezed an ex-vent, optics wide and finials crooked in worry, “Roddy, you are my best friend and I love you to PIECES- but I might have to beat your helm in.”

“Uh…. I’m not following here. I mean, same on both points but uh… why?”

Drft dragged his servos down his face, “Ratch and Percy parted on some really terrible terms way back when and they never… how do I put this…”

“They bickered like newbuilds and never made up.”

“Yeah, yeah basically.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Gunshot wounds and blunt force trauma. Roddy, I gotta go, I got this bad feeling under my plating.”

He nearly collided with Brainstorm on his way to the Medibay, same worried expression half hidden by the scientist’s facemask. No words were needed as they fell in step beside each other, approaching the doors that suddenly seemed to be a gate into hell and-

“IF YOU COULD JUST **_NOT BE A STUBBORN AFT_** FOR TEN KLIKS IN YOUR LIFE-”

“ _OH HO **HO!**_ LISTEN HERE, AS THE THOUSAND-YEAR **_WORKAHOLIC_** LECTURES ME ON STUBBORNNESS!”

It was too late. Brainstorm and Drift stopped in front of the door, and looked nervously at each other. Hearing Perceptor’s usually level and cold voice raised into that particular snarl was so far from a ‘good sign’ that it usually heralded a body count.

The fact that Ratchet was just as loud, just as vicious sounding? Didn’t help matters.

“WHAT YOU CALL BEING **_STUBBORN_** EVERYONE ELSE CALLS **_KNOWING MY PLACE,_** PERCEPTOR!”

“OH, WELL EX- ** _CUSE_** ME OH ALL KNOWING MEDICAL **GRUNT;** ALLOW ME TO BOW TO YOUR **_OBVIOUSLY_** SUPERIOR KNOWLEDGE OF WHAT YOU CALL MY **_PLACE!”_**

“DON’T YOU GO PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH **_PERCEPTOR!_** ”

Drift swallowed hard, “Think we should go in?”

“Percy’s armed, Drift. You couldn’t PAY me to go in there. I’d rather be caught hotwiring Tarn’s vocalizer to a faulty soundsystem than go in there right now.”

“You know about the inset holsters on his thighs, huh?”

“Mhmmmmm.”

More yelling interrupted them

“NOT **_ALL_** OF US CAN RUN AROUND CHASING THE HEM OF DEATH’S CLOAK, PERCEPTOR; SOME OF US OPERATE ON **_L O G I C,_** YOU KNOW, THAT THING YOU ** _SCIENTISTS_** HARP ON AND ON ABOUT?!”

“ ** _YOU’RE_** ONE TO TALK ABOUT LOGIC, RATCHET; OR ARE WE JUST GOING TO CONVENIENTLY FORGET ABOUT EVERY ONE OF YOUR **_STUPID_** DECISIONS?!”

“I DID WHAT WAS **_NECESSARY,_** YOU WENT ON A **_REVENGE BENDER!”_**

“REVENGE BENDER MY ** _AFT,_** I PUT IN TO THE WAR EFFORT.”

Drift winced, finials flicking back at the shrill snarl of Perceptor’s tank engine.

“I NEVER BURNT OUT MY **_ONLY_** USEFUL PIECES WHILE LECTURING THE REST OF THE WORLD, YOU **_WHINY OLD CODGER!”_**

“NO **_YOU_** JUST TOOK A SHOT TO YOUR SPARKCHAMBER AND THEN **_PIROUETTED OFF THE DEEP END!”_**

 ** _“I_** CAN REPAIR MYSELF; IF IT WASN’T FOR ** _PHARMA,_** THE ONLY PLACE YOU’D BELONG IS THE **_SCRAP HEAP!”_**

“AND IF IT HADN’T BEEN FOR **_DRIFT,_** YOU’D ALREADY BE THERE YOU BLATHERING, GUN-TOTING **_GLITCH!”_**

**CRASH.**

The sound of shattering glass like a stone through church windows, and Brainstorm gasped before Drift frantically punched in the unlock codes. The door whooshed open and the pair stumbled through, cries for a cease-fire on their glossa before the scene shot down their words like low-flying aircraft.

Ratchet stood, shocked but unharmed. Shattered glass littered the floor at his pedes, like needle-sharp raindrops from the whirling storm of two tempers flaring unchecked and Perceptor’s shoulders shook with the effort to contain his near legendary anger.

“Yes, it _WAS_ Drift who pulled me out of that mess; says a lot when my _OWN COMRADES_ were more willing to leave me to die than an Ex-Decepticon, _DOESN’T IT?”_ , snarled Perceptor, optic scope whirring as targeting protocols activated, “Don’t you DARE assume I cannot handle myself, Ratchet,I am far more _CAPABLE_ then you realize and if you need any more proof of that, take a quick look at the **_bodycount_** tacked onto my name. I will not stand here and be bloody well _DISRESPECTED_ by-”

 _“I thought you were **DEAD** you damn fool.”_ , blurted Ratchet, “ _I thought you were dead and I was so **scared** that-”_

“…What?”

“I…. I…”, the medic stammered. Drift and Brainstorm stood in the doorway, helms tilted in shock. They hadn’t been noticed, hadn’t even been acknowledged as they stood, ready to leap in at a moment’s notice should this argument turn to blows.

“I didn’t want to lose you, Percy. Not like _**that.”**_ , was the soft confession, whispered into the not-so-empty medbay that still rang from slander and spoken venom, “I.. I, erm…”

Perceptor stared, optics flickering like a blink as realization washed over him. He looks at the medic, the suddenly shy CMO who is looking at the floor intently as though it had forced his words at gunpoint, and softly; the ex-Wrecker spoke, angry tones washed away by the balm of Ratchet’s unexpected honesty.

“All this arguing… because you have… _feelings_ for **me?** ”

An annoyed grunt.

Percptor huffed, “ _RIGHT_ then.”, and he stepped forward; his pedes clacked softly against the floor and Ratchet looked up with more acerbic words on his glossa that were banished when Perceptor’s servos gripped the medic’s shoulders-

Drift and Brainstorm felt their jaws drop as Perceptor, the calm and cold Head Scientist of the Lost Light and the Deadliest Sniper the Autobots had…

Kissed Ratchet like the world would end if he didn’t. Perceptor pressed closer until Ratchet stumbled back and the medic’s back thudded against the counter and Ratchet groaned, backstruts bending slightly as Perceptor seemed hell-bent on taking the CMO’s soul.

Drift and Brainstorm back-pedaled as hard as they ever had, the door hissing shut when they heard the rev of an ambulance’s engine and another thud. As the door locked with a click, they heard the wavering sound of a moan in Perceptor’s particular timbre- Ratchet name wrapped in the sound.

Drift and Brainstorm looked at each other.

“…I need a _drink._ You down?”, asked Brainstorm weakly, wings twitching out of time as his nerves slowly came down from the Defcon Doom levels they had been at.

“Oh sweet **Primus** am I **ever.** ”, wheezed Drift, knees weakening as his systems cycled down from emergency protocols, “Hell, I’ll buy first round.”

The pair leaned on each other and began their slow journey to the bustling sanctity of Swerve’s; jumping when they heard a sharp sound of pleasure from the medbay.

They glared briefly before continuing on.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for these headcanons goes to a friend I talk to a lot over pms! They are the muse, I'm just the dweeb who gets inspired, lol.


End file.
